


scissor-shaped across the bed

by cuttothequickk



Series: makedamnsure [2]
Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Developing Relationship, First Time, Fluff and Non-Explicit Smut, Fluff and Smut, Introspection, Izaya is Stubborn, Light Angst, M/M, Making Out, Overthinking, Shizuo is Sentimental, actually, if that's a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 06:27:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13653333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuttothequickk/pseuds/cuttothequickk
Summary: Maybe this was inevitable, the unstoppable force meeting the immovable object, and now here they both are, captive to the ebb and flow of their bodies pressing together and shuddering apart just as the tides are captive to the pull of the moon. Maybe this was always fated to happen from the moment they met in the schoolyard, from before they even met, from before they were even born.“Stop thinking,” Izaya whispers in a voice softer and gentler than Shizuo’s ever heard.





	scissor-shaped across the bed

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "makedamnsure" by Taking Back Sunday

Three weeks after the first kiss in the alley and they’re stepping through the door of Shizuo’s apartment, hands all over each other before Shizuo can stop to think about the situation. It’s probably for the best, because god knows the blond would put a stop to this if he could, but there’s some force stringing them along together, pulling them past the couch and into the bedroom, tugging at their clothes, landing them on the mattress. Shizuo rests atop the small frame and dark hair of his worst enemy, caging him in with strong arms and stronger legs.

 

Izaya is feral beneath the shelter of Shizuo’s body, his hands coming up to grasp shoulders and hair, raking short fingernails across Shizuo’s chest, his mouth seeking and finding and sucking on Shizuo’s collarbone like it’s a hit off some upmarket drug, something ecstasy-inducing and wild, making the informant gasp and shudder in Shizuo’s grasp.

 

It’s not the first time they’ve done this, but it is the first time they’ve ever done it here, in Shizuo’s home—in either of their homes—instead of in an alley, pressed up against a rough wall, muting their moans against closed lips, strong hands pressing on throats, faces hiding against shoulders padded with soft fabric and damp with their sweat. Shizuo is used to breathless insults, teeth biting hard with hatred, anger fueling desire, and disdain staining their cheeks red. He’s used to Izaya grinning wicked and sinful; no affection, only a strange familiarity that grows every time this happens.

 

So it’s not the first time, but it is the first time, somehow, and Shizuo feels it when he tugs Izaya’s shirt over his head and presses his cheek into the curve of Izaya’s throat. He feels it when Izaya shimmies out of his black jeans and then unbuttons Shizuo’s white shirt, his skin laid bare in a way it’s never been before. There’s a dark spot just under Izaya’s ear where Shizuo bit him hard the last time they did this; they’ve never gotten this far before, Shizuo realizes, so maybe that makes this the actual first time, really, if Izaya really wants to—

 

“Stop thinking,” Izaya whispers in a voice softer and gentler than Shizuo’s ever heard. Izaya tugs the lobe of Shizuo’s ear between his teeth and sucks lightly, barely more than a press of lips really, and Shizuo shakes with the feeling welling up in his chest and sucks a new mark into Izaya’s throat. He lifts his head and presses his mouth to Izaya’s, feeling the sharp bite of Izaya’s teeth as the informant drags their tryst back into furious intensity, a latent fury stirring fire in their veins and surging in the heat between them.

 

Shizuo pulls his lips away from Izaya’s to trail kisses along a sharp-cut jaw, running his hand along a sharp-ribbed side and letting his knee drop down between two sharp-angled knees. Izaya is sharp everywhere, and Shizuo clings to him and hopes he won’t get cut to ribbons. Shizuo’s body settles in atop Izaya’s as if it were made to be there, and maybe it was. Maybe this was inevitable, the unstoppable force meeting the immovable object, and now here they both are, captive to the ebb and flow of their bodies pressing together and shuddering apart just as the tides are captive to the pull of the moon. Maybe this was always fated to happen from the moment they met in the schoolyard, from before they even met, from before they were even born. It certainly feels that way as Izaya tugs at Shizuo’s neck to pull him into another dizzy kiss, and Shizuo wonders if they ever would have done this if it hadn’t been for destiny, because it must be destiny that’s making this happen. They’re enemies, and they’ve always hated each other, and they still hate each other because this is not some weird kind of truce, or—

 

“Stop. Thinking,” Izaya whispers again, his words punctuated by kisses soft against Shizuo’s jaw. The blonde lifts his gaze to meet Izaya’s lust-dark eyes, the crimson almost swallowed by obsidian pupils, eyelids drooping lazy as if Izaya is drunk off only their kiss. Shizuo swallows at the sight and takes a breath, clearing his mind and pressing his mouth back to Izaya’s throat.

 

Izaya laughs and it’s breathy and soft. “I’m obviously not doing a good enough job here,” he says, raking fingers through Shizuo’s hair and down his still-clothed back—Izaya had unbuttoned the shirt, but it’s only now that he finally pushes the white fabric down Shizuo’s arms, the blonde helping the process by throwing it across the room to probably land on the lamp, Izaya laughing at his impatience and reaching for the buckle on his pants. Those are easy to discard too, and soon enough they’re both down to their underwear and giggling as Shizuo’s pants get thrown all the way out of the room. Shizuo looks down at Izaya and he’s grinning, they’re both grinning, and there’s no smirk or scowl lurking under either of their grins, and before he can help it Shizuo is pressing his mouth onto Izaya’s, suddenly so thankful that he is allowed to taste that smile, perhaps the first genuine smile that Izaya has ever offered him.

 

Izaya’s hand comes up to snag in Shizuo’s hair, and Shizuo is lost from that point on, their moans intermingling as they tug each other higher and higher. It’s not the first time, but it _is_ the first time, and when finally they’re through, Shizuo wonders if he’ll ever have sex that good ever again.

 

Izaya’s breathing has almost returned to normal by the time he pushes himself up and manages to stand, the press of his hand to the wall looking almost casual even though Shizuo knows it’s really to keep him upright on shaky knees and tired, aching legs. He starts dragging his clothes on and Shizuo wants to say something, there’s something right on the tip of his tongue, something soft and sweet to make him stay, but Izaya’s posture says that he’s currently unreachable, off somewhere that Shizuo isn’t allowed to see and certainly not to touch, and Shizuo suddenly wonders if this is the first Izaya’s ever done that with anybody, let alone him.

 

“See you around, Shizu-chan,” Izaya says, pulling on his shoes and checking his pockets for his phone, ready to step out the door into the kitchen and then out into the real world, perhaps never to return. Shizuo doesn’t want him to go, wants to laugh with him the way they had when his pants went sailing out of the room earlier, but it must be a lust-induced fever dream, a psychedelia that will never exist, and why should Shizuo even want it? Izaya offers a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes, the quirk of an eyebrow, and a half-hearted wave, and then he sees himself out.

 

The door shuts behind him with a click, and Shizuo rubs a hand over his eyes. He lets out a breath and reaches for the cigarettes resting on the nightstand, fitting one to his lips and lighting it with the expert precision that he’s mastered over the years since he had his first taste of nicotine. The familiar motion grounds him, and he sighs out smoke, and he stares at the ceiling, and for the first time in his life, he really hopes he’ll see the flea the next time he’s out and about in Ikebukuro.

 

He does. They end up here again. And Shizuo thinks, again, it must be destiny.


End file.
